Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End

by Lesley Young

  “Is it possible?” I begin, looking up, then stopping short when I realize they’re all watching me closely. Patiently.

  “Yes?” says Or’ic.

  Should I ask? Well, how else will I ever know? I’ve never been able to speak about my ‘ability’ like this, and it’s weird, but kind of necessary.

  “Is it possible to interact across dimensions?”

  Kell’an and Or’ic share a silent exclamation. Onegin moves a little closer. Pers’eus inhales noisily.

  “In what way do you refer?” asks Or’ic.

  “Well, hypothetically speaking of course,” I shift away from Onegin, “could someone in one dimension leave someone else a message knowing they might see it?”

  More weird silent exchanges.

  “Who has been communicating with you?” asks Or’ic sternly.

  I’m surprised by the change. Still attractive. But sexy scary.

  “No one. I—”

  “You must tell us. There are things you do not yet know of, very dangerous beings, crossing over dimensions. They would not hesitate to harm you.”

  “What? Beings are crossing over?”

  “Who has been communicating with you? How?” He practically shouts at me, rising up out of his chair, his full height.

  “I really don’t know!” I shout back, sufficiently intimidated. “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t bad, though! It was cryptic, a message that was meant to protect me. It said I should hide. Clearly with good reason.”

  After a moment, Or’ic settles back into his chair. His eyes fixate on something above my head, faraway.

  “What are these dangerous beings? What do you mean they’re crossing over?” I demand.

  “Aeons,” snarls Onegin beside me. I jump because he’s clearly insane and I’ve never seen madness up close before.

  “Who?” I ask timidly.

  “They are called Aeons,” says Or’ic, quieting Onegin with a glance. The way it’s translated, it comes out sounding like ‘eons.’

  “They are an ancient race that has survived throughout time by traveling across the dimensional rifts when the current universe they occupy is close to its inevitable rebirth, interfering with the natural order,” says Or’ic.

  “They travel across dimensions? How is that even possible?” I ask.

  Shadon shifts in his chair. Pers’eus takes another drink. Only Or’ic and Kell’an look me in the eye.

  “That is where the sift comes in,” says Or’ic. “It is a weapon. The most important weapon that exists. There are very few of these weapons in our galaxy. The Aeons, a race who I would add, destroys everything in the new universes they conquer and colonize, use sifts to travel across dimensions. Our people rely on sifts as well, when we find them, to not only find rifts and guard against Aeon entry, but to mount offensives.”

  “You see, Cassiel, while your race has been pursuing the arts and telling beautiful fairytales, ours has been sacrificing hundreds of thousands of lives defending this universe from invasion for thousands of years.”

  Oh for Pete’s sake.

  “Well, I’m sure once ESE knows the situation, we can work together to fight these Aeons,” I state confidently.

  “Aeons,” says Kell’an, correcting me.

  I repeat it a few times, but the translator must be off, because ‘eons’ is the only way I hear it.

  “Anyway, when we work together to fight these . . . bad guys, we can share these sifts.”

  Or’ic’s eyes narrow, and for the briefest moment his guard lowers to reveal an intensely mercurial man, fixed on me with direct and open possessiveness, and utters, “Never.”

  Onegin punctuates this with a harsh laugh.

  “Our Guardianship has been spying on ESE since it first entered space,” says Or’ic, joining Onegin in a shared sneer, before slipping his mask back on. “ESE is not capable of battling Aeons. Humans will need to give us alms instead, to fight.”

  “Alms?”

  “Yes. Species we encounter support our purpose by supplying resources. Food. Weapons.”

  “Oh, I don’t think ESE will go for that.”

  “We shall see,” says Or’ic, who, still standing, motions to the hunched over slave that he will pour the next round.

  Yes, we shall see.

  He lingers, showing off his thighs, for a moment standing right in front of me, which if I didn’t know better is deliberate, to give me a good view (which I don’t take, thank you), before returning to his seat. I wonder if they’re aware how revealing their pants are.

  Focus! Focus! Focus!

  So let’s recap: our universe is under attack by some evil force bent on taking it over for its own survival. Meanwhile, presently, some wack-job Prime called Aardon has my brother. If I agree to find this sifting weapon everyone wants, Or’ic’s Horde will trade it for my brother. Wait a minute . . .

  “Two questions. You never said how I’m supposed to find this sift, or what’s in this for you? Why would you trade away this all-important sift weapon for my brother?”

  “I did not say we would trade it. I said we promised we would trade it. Once you find this sift, we will steal your brother back and keep the sift for ourselves.”

  “Wow. Is that how much a Thell’eon’s word is worth?”

  I can just imagine the battles between fiefdoms. “How am I supposed to ever trust you?” I add, staring into coal. If he ratchets the fierceness up any further, he’ll make carbon out of those eyes.

  “You would understand trust is a misguided human social construction predicated on absolutely nothing but self-delusion.”

  Huh? Wha—?

  “As for the sift, we believe it is hidden in another dimension on Taxata, which is currently being guarded by Thell’eon armadas. You would look for it by using your gift. We would take care of the rest after that. We would protect you and help you. We have spent our lives training for just such a thing,” he adds with a touch of reverence.

  There’s a funny expression on everyone’s face. A kind of awe and mean resignation.

  Criminy.

  “Well, I guess I’ll try to help you locate the sift, but only if you return Daz to ESE.”

  “That’s what I already said,” he says impatiently.

  “Okay. Well, then, you should know that my visions, or rather this sifting, is awfully random,” I add reluctantly.

  “No,” barks Kell’an. He spreads his long legs wide and places his hands on his knees. “That’s what you think, I am sure, but it is not the case,” he adds, softening his harsh tone. Boy, they sure have to work hard at being nice. “We would help you exercise your skill. Improve on it. Branes collide across dimensions everywhere, not just near perimeters of the universe.”

  Uh, that’s unsettling. Makes sense, though, since I’ve been seeing them all of my life.

  “How are you, I mean, we, doing against these Aeons?” I ask quietly. “I mean, is there full out war going on or something? Are there many of them here in our universe?”

  ESE has not traveled very far yet. For all we know it could be Armageddon.

  “For now, we manage to keep them out, but our losses are severe,” says Or’ic. “We need more,” he pauses, “we need to locate more sifts in order to wage an offensive, to mount surprise attacks and wipe out their leaders.”

  Oh. This is really hard to process. No wonder Thell’eon’s culture’s so battle-oriented.

  I focus back on my little world. All I really care about is getting Daz home safely. If that means helping them to win this battle, which is really about saving human butts anyway, what’s the biggie? So what if Thell’eons get the sift and not ESE? Not my problem. I just need to confirm one thing.

  “I need proof my brother’s alive before I help you.”
>
  “We thought you might say that,” says Kell’an, getting up.

  I grow more alert, observing Kell’an, who tucks in a few more weapons into his belt holsters, then returns after a moment from behind the chairs with a device that is similar to the black thing I stole from Or’ic. A portal? I wait eagerly, sitting forward.

  Kell’an places it on the table in front of him and traces something on another device he removes from one of his vest pockets. The unit flashes, like it did in my pod on ESE, and a rectangle of light beams on to an empty patch of floor about six feet from where we are sitting. Kell’an and Or’ic rise, and then Onegin, too, with his hand on a weapon at his waist. They are staring at the rectangle.

  I stand up, trembling.

  I hear the sounds of translocation, a noise like two hands rubbing together, then there, a figure is on his knees, hands tied behind his back with two Thell’eons standing behind him. I let out a breath, realizing I had been holding it.

  Quickly I note that these Thell’eon are wearing body armor but different colors than what I have seen on Or’ic’s ship, which is black and silver; theirs is gray and green. They hold four guns, which automatically adjust to point at us.

  I focus on the person dressed in loose black clothing. A black bag conceals his head, but . . . he appears to be the same size as Daz, maybe thinner. Hope ripples through me despite my efforts to hold it back. It could be like before. Like what ESE did in the combat test. Tricking me. Drawing out my weakness. A sickening anxiety prickles through me.

  Without any word from Or’ic, one of the guards lifts the bag off of the figure’s head.

  I stare at the bedraggled, bearded face. A perfect stranger. His round face winces from the sudden light as he takes in his surroundings. When his eyes, those eyes, fall on me, the look of horror’s almost unbearable.

  “Cass!” says Daz, clearly astonished.

  I trip over myself and stumble in a sudden rush to embrace him. I get a few steps forward before the two guards turn their guns at me. I halt mid-stride. Daz, who’s looking thinner than ever, ragged, worn, but clean, attempts to rise to protect me, but one of the Thell’eon guards hits him hard in the side of the head with the butt of the gun.

  I feel the thump down to my toes.

  “Cassiel,” says Or’ic harshly, not taking his eyes off of the guards. “Step back.”

  I glare at Or’ic, shaking, about to demand that they not hurt Daz again. But it’s then that I realize every single one of the Kir Counsel is aiming a weapon of some sort back at the guards. Hence the armor and weapons, Cassiel. Guess Hordes don’t get along with each other after all.

  “There was to be no contact,” says one of Prime Aardon’s Horde members. My hands are clenched and an anguished gasp escapes me.

  “Cassiel. Step. Back,” says Or’ic.

  I do as he says, clenching my hands into fists.

  Daz’s staring at me with utter disbelief. Then he sprays the Counsel Kirs with rage. He settles on Or’ic, recognizing his status made clear by his commands.

  I expect Or’ic to toy with Daz, to goad him, to emphasize his power, but he does none of that. He merely stares back.

  Tears roll down my cheeks. I can’t take my eyes off of my brother.

  “It’s okay,” I say shakily to Daz. He turns to me, clearly still in denial that I’m standing before him. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to get you out of this.”

  Daz raises his eyebrows and gives me a look I’ve seen many times, usually just before I hit AMP 90 in the velo. It says, Are you out of your fucking mind? I want to laugh, to smile, to hug him back to his clean, poised, fun-loving self.

  “Cass,” he says, with a tone he uses to try to talk reason into me. His voice is hoarse and my heart beats with pain. What have they done to him? He tries to clear his throat.

  “You remember,” he manages to croak out, “that promise you always made to me.”

  Of course I know what he’s talking about. Never tell anyone about your ability. Why’s he bringing it up? What does he know about what they want from me?

  I can tell he thinks I have already broken it, or will. A look of anguish crosses his face and he shakes his head back and forth in frustration.

  Then in a rush of words he says, “Cass, don’t do whatever they ask y—”

  “That’s enough!” interrupts Or’ic.

  Daz’s words are cut short by another sharp blow to the head from one of the guards.

  I scream “No!” but one of the brutes activates something on his wrist and three of them disappear in a breath, leaving me standing there staring at empty space.

  Chapter 16

  Here, in what I’ve just been told are my quarters, I relish my first taste of privacy (if you can call it that) since they kidnapped me. Two guards stand outside my door, with their wide V-shaped backs to me, strapped heavily with those crisscrossing flat rows of shiny silver blades. Maybe they throw them at the enemy like knives.

  There are no doors actually, so far as I have seen, anywhere on this ship. Just archways that lead in and out of rooms. Perfect. My room’s more like a vestibule with a tall, rectangular veneer-esque object, oh, that’s a downcore, right smack in the middle. The walls, so smooth they’re almost reflective, are really just partitions that don’t actually reach the ceiling. There are also clear passageways on either side. Metatabulous.

  Glancing around one corner, I scan a wide room, at least it has floor-to-ceiling walls, and a downcore big enough to fit five of me on it. On the other side of my space, there’s another room just like mine, a whole series of them, it would appear, divided only by partitions. How am I ever going to sleep here?

  More importantly, whose is the bigger, stately, somewhat private room, right behind this partition?

  I can’t think about that. Nope, just focus on the positive.

  Daz. He’s alive!

  Daz. He’s injured!

  I crouch down, tuck my head in and protect it with my arms, and scream as loud as I can—silently.

  But he’s alive! Oh, Daz. How did you end up kidnapped by Thell’eon thugs? They haven’t broken him, Cassiel! I wipe away the tears I didn’t realize I was shedding.

  Remember that promise. His words echo in my mind.

  The note. Hide. D.

  It had to have been from him. He knows I read that book all the time. He wanted me to hide. But, why? Did he mean for me to hide my ability? And how in the universes did he get the note to me?

  The only way was if he somehow had a sift. But Or’ic also said that they believed the asset took the sift and vanished somewhere back on Taxata. None of it makes any sense!

  “You would find these accommodations unsuitable.”

  I choke on my own rapid inhalation and stand up quickly, wiping the tears from my face.

  Or’ic. So proud. Those long legs, striding right into my space, like he owns it. He certainly fills it. There’s suddenly a lot less air to breathe.

  Free of his armor, I can’t help but notice how his white and gray markings, barely visible, contour his muscular arms, his wide flat pectorals, and his obscenely rippling abs. His frame’s not quite as thick as the others, though I wouldn’t go so far as to call him lean. When I’m done exploring and return to his face, embarrassed, his dark eyes deliberately rake over me, taking their time at my hips, and then my waist and finally my boobs, and the effect’s visceral. Okay. Now is when you need to guard yourself! I scan the space for the nearest exit.

  He sighs, and leans against the partition next to the king-sized quarters like a human male. First time I have seen him relaxed.

  “We do not have the need for what you humans call ‘privacy’ on Thell’eon. This would be a difficulty for you. I wish to give you my personal guarantee that you would be safe in these quarters.”r />
  He smiles at me like he just remembered that a smile indicates honesty on Earth.

  I snort. “And Onegin?”

  I’m referring to how, at the end of our deal making, Onegin suddenly noticed I was a woman. He stared openly at my chest, breathing so loud it bordered on a pant, so much so that Or’ic had to reprimand him.

  Or’ic knits his brow. His markings don’t jumble; they connect together smoothly. Whoever did his, took care to place them in just the right way no matter how he moves. “You would attract attention. This is natural. We do not spend any time with our females. But my Kirs would not defy me. You would remain innocent.”

  I hope he’s right. Wait, why did he use the word ‘innocent’? Translator blip?

  “Although, perhaps, you would prefer it to be otherwise.” His eyebrows and their markings rise ever so optimistically. “In which case you would come to my room, which is right here.” He motions to king-size quarters.

  Holy stars, did he just proposition me?

  “Uh, no!” I answer quickly, in case he’s serious. For good measure, I add, “I’m spoken for! You know, taken!”

  He mulls over my words and holds my eyes until I squirm. “I think we both know that is not the case.”

  I flash to our symbiosis, our wet kisses, how I revealed to him with emboldened inexperience just how not ‘taken’ I had ever been. Metatabulous.

  He moves toward me, without making a sound.

  “What are you doing?” I demand, stepping back, bumping into the downcore behind me. “I told you, I have a boyfriend!”

  Pausing, he smiles, ever so slightly. “A boy. Who is a friend. But you do not have a mate.”

  The word sends a shiver down my spine. I want to dispute this, but decide to take the high road and cross my arms, pursing my lips.